


The Issues I Cannot Ignore

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Post Season 4, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek didn't know what to do. He had followed the scent of anxiety through the preserve, approaching cautiously when he heard the thumping; the distinctive sound of metal-on-metal, of aluminum bat hitting side paneling. Stiles wasn’t making any noise besides the occasional grunt, <i>slamming</i> the bat into the Jeep over and over and over with intense focus, jaw clenched. There was sweat soaked through his shirt at the collar, underarms, and between his shoulder blades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Issues I Cannot Ignore

**Author's Note:**

> Hoechlin mentioned at AlphaCon that he wanted to do a scene with Dylan where Stiles just got really angry and used Derek as a punching bag to vent his anger on. I think it would be the perfect way for them to get together in a canon-setting. So, this happened. Short, a little sad, and kinda sweet.
> 
> Title from The Front Bottoms - Swimming Pool  
> It's one of my Sterek anthems, seriously, go read the lyrics.

Derek didn't know what to do. He had followed the scent of anxiety through the preserve, approaching cautiously when he heard the thumping; the distinctive sound of metal-on-metal, of aluminum bat hitting side paneling. Stiles wasn’t making any noise besides the occasional grunt, _slamming_ the bat into the Jeep over and over and over with intense focus, jaw clenched. There was sweat soaked through his shirt at the collar, underarms, and between his shoulder blades.

Derek could tell he had been out here awhile. All the lights on the Jeep were busted out, the side mirrors were completely gone. The hood was dented and crinkled, the front bumper barely hanging on. The whole area smell like a stew of melancholy and rage.

Derek didn’t know how to help. He wasn’t good at this, he wasn’t good at other people’s emotions. Insecurities, fears, _love_ \-- he didn’t really get how any of it worked with other people. It’s not that he didn’t know Stiles, he just didn’t know how to calm him down, didn’t know how to make it better.

Anger was a starting point, though. Derek understood anger better than most people. It was easier to deal with than sadness or terror or affection, it was straight forward.

Stiles was so caught up in completely obliterating the passenger door that he didn’t notice Derek come up behind him. Derek caught the bat on the upswing, clenching his hand around it to keep Stiles from bringing it down again.

Stiles’ shoulders jerked from the force of it. He whirled around, hands still on the bat. For once his movements were tightly controlled, not clumsy. His eyebrows were sharp, angry lines. The skin around his eyes was red and swollen, full evidence that he had been crying. Angry sniffles kept escaping him as he tugged on the bat, trying to get it away from Derek.

“Fuck off,” Stiles snarled, pulling. Derek didn’t let go.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” Derek asked, trying to keep his voice soft. Stiles’ glare was venomous.

“Go away, Derek,” Stiles said, voice raw with emotion. He was so angry Derek could feel it coming off of him in waves, scent tainted heavily with despair. The skin around his knuckles turned white from where he gripped the bat hard.

“Stop, Stiles. Leave your Jeep alone,” Derek said, taking a step closer. Stiles didn’t respond, just kept yanking at the bat, short forceful tugs that didn’t accomplish anything except for a see-saw of their arms, back and forth. Derek squeezed tighter, aluminum whining as it crumpled.

Stiles dropped the bat, watching it fall with a blank expression before he turned his gaze back to Derek, face sharpening in anger.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Derek,” he said. His face was red, staining the wings of his cheekbones and the line of his neck. “What the hell are you here for?”

“I wanted to make sure --”

“What that I’m okay? Well, I’m _not_ ,” Stiles said, taking a step back, putting more distance between them. “You can leave now.”

“I’m not going to leave you out here like this,” Derek said, firmly, wishing he still had the bat in his fist so he had something to crush and hold onto. Stiles’ anger was stifling, it made him want to punch something. Maybe it was because anger wasn’t his anchor anymore, it made him more susceptible to it. Maybe it was because _Stiles_ was his anchor now, it made him more susceptible to _him_.

This was all wrong.

“You are, you _can_ , I know you can. You can leave, you _always_ leave. Leave to New York, to South America, doesn’t matter,” Stiles seethed.

“I had really good reasons to leave,” Derek reminded him, even though he knew that probably wasn’t the point. Stiles scoffed, an ugly sound like a cough stuck in his throat. His eyes looked wet, glistening in the moonlight.

“Right, did you have a good reason to stop coming around?” Stiles asked, stepping closer to Derek, into his space. He pressed his palms to Derek’s chest and _shoved_ , catching Derek by surprise. Derek stumbled a bit before righting himself.

“I barely see you, you’re barely around,” Stiles snarled, shoving some more, walking Derek backwards with the force of his thrusts, upper arm muscles bunching and releasing. “You see _my dad_ , you see _Scott_ , you see everyone,” each point punctuated by a push, “ _except me_.”

“What are you--”

“Don’t!” Stiles said, there were definitely tears in his eyes now, but he stopped his assault for the moment. “I’m fucking sick of this. Planning and fighting and _trying not to die_! When do we get a break, Derek? Ever since your fucking uncle got better, since _you_ came back, everything has been shit.”

Derek didn’t flinch back from that, even though he wanted to. Stiles was right, Peter set off a chain of events and Derek helped him. They dragged Beacon Hills down together. If Derek had left after he became alpha none of this would have happened. Derek could make himself leave, he just couldn’t make himself stay away. He needed Beacon Hills and the people in it, for whatever reason.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” Stiles asked, wiping at his face with his sleeve roughly. His skin was pale in the darkness. He looked more fragile than Derek remembered him looking, even when he was possessed, even after. His dark eyes a stark contrast to his white skin. He looked defeated. Derek never thought he would see the day when Stiles Stilinski looked defeated. “ _Everything_ is wrong, everything is fucked up.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, hating himself for it. He knew those were the worst words to say, they didn’t make anything better.

“‘It’s okay’, he says! For how long, Derek? How long until the next _life threatening_ event happens? How long until we’re back at it again?” Stiles demanded, harsh and loud. There were tears spilling down his cheeks now. “How long do I have to deal with the nightmares until they become real again? One day, we won’t be able to save them. They’ll all end up _dead_ , just like the rest of them. We _all_ will.”

This time, he shoved Derek harder than Derek was expecting. It made him fall hard, crash into the ground with a thud. Stiles didn’t stop, just pressed closer, shoving at Derek, pushing at him. The shoves turned into punches, sobs suddenly escaping him, horrible noises that made Derek ache in sympathy.

He tried to grab Stiles’ wrists to steady him, keep him from landing his pointy-knuckled punches. Stiles squirmed and moved, managing to wriggle away every time. Derek grabbed an arm and wrenched it back, not too hard, trying to get Stiles to back off. Stiles’ tears had stopped, but his face was still irate, a snarl on his lips. Derek managed to push him over, get him on his back before Stiles flailed out of it and shoved Derek away, only to come back and try to punch him again.

He was yelling barely-comprehensible things while they fought. Things like “you fucker” and “this is your fucking fault”, using his fists to drive the point in. It took a minute for Derek to realize that this was what Stiles needed, that he needed a release. Whatever he had been trying hadn’t worked. That’s why he brought his Jeep out here, that’s why started this fight with Derek.

Derek stopped struggling. He let Stiles climb on top and just punch him, putting up minimal resistance. Stiles had stopped screaming, now he was just sobbing, landing blow after blow haphazardly like he didn’t know how to control it. Derek’s chest, neck, face. Sting after sting, slowly losing momentum.

Stiles stopped, fist drawn back, eyes widening with realization when he noticed that Derek wasn’t fighting back. He could feel his body healing his bruised face. Maybe the blood on Stiles’ knuckles was his too. Stiles dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, falling onto Derek’s chest. Derek rose up halfway to meet him, arms going around him to pull Stiles in tight.

Stiles folded up, caged in his arms, hands clenching uselessly at his t-shirt. The sobs that tore from his throat were heartbreaking, harsh and loud. His body shook with the force of his crying, a wet spot forming on Derek’s shirt where Stiles was pressing his face.

The clearing smelled like anxiety sweat, blood, and tears. Everything that their lives had been since they met each other.

Derek knew it wasn’t fair to Stiles. None of this was fair to any of them. They put up a good front, but they were all hurting inside in different ways. Peter, the alpha pack, the darach, the nogitsune, the deadpool. It was one thing after another. He had lost all of the betas he had turned, people he was supposed to protect with his life. He had lost Cora to the pack in South America, and Peter. Peter was locked up and it was his own fault, but it still hurt Derek. Everything hurt.

Stiles’ head popped up, knocking against Derek’s chin. Derek pushed him back, but not too far, far enough to look at him without crossing his eyes. Stiles’ cheeks were still wet with tears, his mouth twisted down.

“ _You_ ,” he said, voice cracking. “I thought you were dead, I thought you -- You got _stabbed_ , it was just like Allison--”

“Stiles, don’t--”

“ _No_ , goddamn it, Derek,” Stiles said, strangled.

Instead of shoving Derek away again, he pulled him close and shoved their lips together. It was a harsh, too-hard press of lips. Derek jerked back in surprise before surging back up, hand curving around Stiles’ head, kissing him back. It was hot and wet with tears and spit and everything Derek never knew he needed. They slid together perfectly once they found a rhythm. Not too fast or too slow, with an edge of bite, just like everything that they did.

Stiles pulled away too soon. Derek could hear his heart jackhammer in his chest. Derek’s synced up with it, speeding along.

“Do you know how hard it was to just leave you there?” he asked, a little breathless. His eyes were roving around Derek’s face like he was trying to gauge his reaction. Derek stroked his thumb down Stiles’ neck in reassurance. Derek’s lap was suddenly cold as Stiles pulled away, moving off of Derek completely. Derek sat up, watching Stiles sit back on his heels and drag a hand over his face. He looked exhausted.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, after they stared at each other for longer than was appropriate. He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. That settled something in Derek’s gut, made this bizarre situation seem slightly normal. “Sorry, that I took all that out on you.”

Derek understood though, more than Stiles knew. After the fire he had been so angry with everything. With himself for falling for Kate’s game, for not being able to prevent any of it. He was angry with Laura for picking them up and moving them across the country, away from Peter, without warning. He was, irrationally, angry with his family for not being stronger, not getting out.

Derek understood that desire to destroy things, to ravage something so completely there was nothing recognizable left. Derek wondered how Stiles felt when he was possessed. If he felt that strength and control, wondered if he felt weak in comparison now. Derek knew what that was like as well. Slowly becoming human made him feel so vulnerable. It was like he was completely muted and detached. He realized how easy it was to die, how easy it was to get hurt and stay hurt.

What Stiles did for the pack, _that_ was heroic. Derek and the others had power, but Stiles constantly threw himself into danger simply because he needed to protect the people that he loved, even if they were stronger than he was. Derek knew that before, but now he understood what it really meant.

The danger Stiles put himself in, it was no wonder he was angry and scared and confused.

“You seemed to need it,” he said, after too long. He shifted his weight so his legs were crossed, leaning into Stiles’ space more. “I don’t mind. I understand, trust me.”

Stiles’ mouth curved in a smile for the first time that night, open and affectionate and honest.

“I do trust you.”

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH I KNOW, the scene with the Jeep is like Dean's scene with the Impala. IDK, I thought it worked. thank you for reading!


End file.
